


Une Danse Pour Deux

by hopefulrobot



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), But like it's a dance school, Car Accidents, Drunk Driving, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Komaeda's dog makes an appearance, Komahina - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, dancefic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-09-06 06:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulrobot/pseuds/hopefulrobot
Summary: Hajime Hinata is the most esteemed student at Hope's Peak Academy of Dance. Komaeda can't help but fall for him, in a world where he definitely shouldn't.





	1. First Steps

The mop bucket seems to get heavier every day. It lands on the concrete of the closet with a splash, drenching Komaeda's trainers. He pretends not to care in the slightest about his socks, now swamped with mop water. Letting out a heavy sigh, he turns to leave, deciding to clear up the mess in the near future.

He picks up his previously discarded backpack from the corner of the closet. “Back again tomorrow…” he mutters to himself, reaching for the door handle.

It was an awful summer job, but Komaeda knew he needed it. Even if the money was just for him, he didn’t have enough to live properly without it. Nowhere else in this dead town would be hiring any time soon. His walk home is quaint, the sun fading in the sky, leaving a peach hue with its departure. The vast fields and leafy trees weave into his path, the remnants of golden light weaving through the branches above him. The hill is steep, but Komaeda has climbed it enough times. He can follow his own muddy path back to where he needs to go, digging his feet into the turf, now both wet and covered in dirt. 

He takes both of his shoes and socks off at the doorstep, his old front door looming over him as he hops about in the cold. He desperately tries to maintain balance as he removes the other shoe, peering through one of the arched windows, unable to see any life inside. He fumbles for the keys in his pocket, managing to make his way in. 

The big, beautiful eyes of a happy golden retriever greet him as he steps into his home. The floorboards creak their very own greeting. He reaches down to fuss Lucky and dissuade the overgrown puppy from eating his shoe. “Hello?” Komaeda shouts, attempting to throw his voice into the kitchen. 

No reply. _Odd, _he thinks,_ she should be home by now._ Shaking the thought off, he walks upstairs, creaking open the door to his room. 

The space is messy. Jackets lay strewn over his desk chair. Many band posters adorn the flat walls. The sloped wall to the right is dressed with fairy lights, making the space feel as cozy as it could. His guitar sits unplayed for years in the corner. This room is the highest in the house, warm and muggy, only saved by the leaky windows that breathe some amount of air into it. It smells like damp wood and moss. The timber frames of the old home appear to loom over his head as he looks up. The cottage has been noticeably withered with age, so what it gains in charm, it absolutely loses in practicality. 

He ditches his many wristbands, takes down his hair and collapses on his bed. He realises quickly just how much his feet ache. From this disordered position, he kicks off his jeans, struggling along with his feet in the air like a child, flailing madly. He chooses to reside in his underwear for now. 

As he lays there, all four limbs fanned out like a clumsy starfish, he has time to think over his day. He sighs deeply. The headmaster of Hope’s Peak Academy of Dance seems to forget that anyone who isn’t a student is also a person with feelings. Sure, Komaeda wasn’t the headmaster’s first priority, nor would he ever be. On a lucky day, Komaeda’s job was easy. This good luck, however, was often cancelled out a few days later. Being asked to clean an extra studio every other day ensures he will leave late. 

This was a massive problem, especially when you wanted to go and eat pizza in your room by yourself. 

The studio in question is often occupied by Hajime Hinata, the clean-cut dance prodigy that the village is known for. He barely attends his lessons anymore, if he even has any. Komaeda just wanted to get the cleaning done, please the elusive Hinata, and fuck off home. It’s almost irritating to think that a guy his age gets off so easily. 

Hope’s Peak Academy operated as a solar system, revolving around their one and only star.

He isn’t going to ask Hinata when he’s coming in next any time soon. Hinata isn’t just a normal twenty-something, he’s… something else. He may even be a carefully crafted machine. He seems to win gold at practically every competition in the county. He stars in every local theatre production, and gives talks at surrounding schools. Rumours have it that Hinata’s prowess allows his mother to buy half of the land in the village. She might even be their landlord. 

His group lessons are the most sought-after classes taught at Hope’s Peak. Auditions are held for spots each year, and hundreds of young dancers flood into the town, hoping they will be good enough to wrangle a place. Komaeda’s mum was always badgering him into it, saying he should try, as if he hasn’t got two left feet and zero rhythm. 

Or that he cares about dance, at all.  
Which he definitely doesn’t. 

\--

“Akane-san,” a familiar voice shouts. It echoes softly around the room. “Make sure you control that lift on the way down, yeah? Concentrate on that hand.”

“Yes, Hinata-san.” The voice answers quickly. Komaeda continues to organise the shoe rack at the back of the studio. 

The back-and-forth yelling that always ensues in this room is more than enough to hurt his ears. The incessant noise of the bass is unbearable. Every student seems to slam their feet down on the floor as hard as they possibly can, trying to make sure Hinata can hear their work. He really needs to start cleaning the group studio earlier, to avoid this becoming a constant irritant. The entire room smells like lycra and hairspray.

“This piece is meant to be _romantic, passionate..._” Hinata talks with his hands as if an actor on stage. “You want the audience to feel that love with you, through you.” He falls back casually onto the mirrored wall behind him, crossing his arms and sighing dramatically. “So during the lift, where should you be looking?” 

“At your partner.” Akane replies. “Not on the ground.”

“Everyone heard that, yeah?” Hinata inquires loudly. 

The bleach-white walls are almost blinding, the bar lights above only serving to increase the pressure present in the room. The grey, overworked floor is instantly quiet. 

“Alright, again.” He commands, clapping his hands. The students scramble to their starting positions as Hinata lunges forward, one trainer resting on the velvet piano stool as he reaches for his stereo. 

At this point, Komaeda is convinced Hinata has supersonic powers, and can hear a foot landing off-beat from a mile away. Hinata scans the feet and hands of each dancer in the room, nodding his head slightly along with the beat. His posture is closed, his arms remaining crossed as he slumps against the wall. Komaeda manages to look away as he steps forward, his hands raised in front of him, clearly about to say something. 

“Okay, okay, okay… hang on.” He pauses the music again. “The partner work looks good, but it’s the movement here... Hinata makes a flippant movement with his arm, his eyes following his wrists. “It’s throwing me off.” 

He steps forward, making eye contact with Komaeda for just a second. His face seems to say, “I’m sick of this”, but Komaeda is no professional translator. “Sonia, do you mind-?” 

Sonia, one of Hinata’s top students, steps to the front. He looks down at her hands for a second, placing his palm underneath hers to lift it. Komaeda knows Sonia quite well. She is one of the few people at the academy that he can call a “friend”. Her robust commitment can be spotted by anyone. It’s no wonder Hinata chose her this year. Since she graced the academy, she has featured as Hinata’s partner frequently throughout the season. Sonia has been friends with Hinata for a while, but has only recently started to dance. She seems to learn quickly. 

“Okay, look.” Hinata stands at the front, a bit sticky and exhausted. “We’re gonna go from the beginning of the partner work, to the end, where the dip is. Watch.” 

Hinata looks up, becoming aware he has been absentmindedly looking at her hand for too long. “Follow me, Sonia.” He says softly. He turns to face the mirror, the rest of the class watching their reflection intensely. Hinata lifts his hand into the air gracefully, and Sonia repeats this action, turning slightly to the left. 

“Notice how softly Sonia raises her hand? Light as air. That’s what you want.” 

Sonia looks at Akane with a flustered expression. Akane giggles and shoots Sonia a wink, causing her to go bright red. Hinata pretends not to notice. 

“When you take this hand away…” Hinata continues, his hand falling backwards behind him. His back leg supports the motion. “You need to bend your back. All of you are flexible. Your back should travel with this arm, until…” He repeats the action, his head flopping to the floor, an expression of sadness greeting his face. “Until you look properly distraught, upset.” 

The class watches Hinata’s movements, miming it themselves. Hinata is clearly the most flexible in the room. Each student seems to add their own flair to their movements, as if they all have something different to say. Komaeda notices before too long that he is absentmindedly trying to follow this movement, and looks away, completely embarrassed. 

“Now, the lift.” Hinata says. He starts the music again, and in this moment, his eyes fly past Komaeda. Thank goodness, the pale haired boy thinks. He either hasn’t noticed how he is watching, or he doesn’t care. 

Hinata turns to face Sonia, one arm behind his back, one leg behind him with pointed toes. He holds out his hand to her. She presses her palm against his, assuming a mirroring position. They exchange a smile. Hinata mutters something to her that Komaeda can’t quite catch. He lifts Sonia at the waist, turns, and places her gently on the ground. The movements fly past with flawless execution, as expected. Sonia seems to be weightless in Hinata’s hands, her arms greeting the air politely, before daintily landing on her toes. Hinata twists quickly, his hips supporting the movement, allowing Sonia to fall into his arms, her hair dropping past her shoulders. She widens her eyes, clearly in awe of Hinata’s precision. She giggles, and he smiles in return. He looks down at Sonia and rolls his eyes, smirking. “See? You can dip lower. Tanaka won’t drop you.” 

The music stops. Komaeda remembers to look away this time, and continues to collect shoes off the floor.

“This is what you want, okay? Make your partner feel like they can trust you.” Hinata holds the dipped position, almost showing off that he can hold Sonia for hours if he wanted to. His back barely quivers, his arm strong and unfaltering. 

“...And you can keep them there all day if you want.” He looks around the room in a daydreamy manner, absentmindedly humming, while Sonia remains in this dipped position. He taps the foot that is not bearing the weight, fully flaunting his strength. He begins to laugh, and the class follows suit, mumbling to themselves and looking at their respective partners. Jokey winks and suggestive murmurs are exchanged. The energy in the room seems to be one of love, each pair possessing their own kind of chemistry. 

The chatter dies down as Hinata begins to talk again, allowing Sonia to stand. 

“If you’re lifting your partner like I did, it’s your job to be stable. Straight back. Let your arm _guide…_” He mimes a slow dipping motion on his own, “_...your partner downward._ If you’re being Sonia, here, you need to trust your partner to not drop you. Have faith in them,” he flashes a look at Tanaka, “and watch those toes.”

“...Okay, again.” He claps once more, and each student quickly takes their place. 

Komaeda thinks the class has done a good job this time. Each pair seem to pull off the movements properly, in his lowly opinion. Hinata seems to speak life into each action, until it can be seen by those who are blessed with being able to watch his group perform. 

“Okay, time!” Hinata shouts, smiling. He stops the music. “Good work, guys. See you tomorrow.” 

He lays his back against the door to the studio, holding it open. The students funnel out, fumbling for their shoes, bumping into Komaeda constantly. Hinata waits around. He eyes the shoe rack, tuts, and sighs, untying his shoes and leaving them strewn on the floor next to the stereo. 

“Komaeda-san?” He says, looking up at Komaeda from the ground. Komaeda only notices now that he seems to be in pain. He is looking at his ankle timidly, trying to flex it back and forth with his hand. “Leave the curtain in front of the rack open, please. It helps me know who’s forgotten what.” He tries to look away, but Komaeda notices the sharp intake of breath he makes when his ankle clicks. 

“Yeah, sure.” Komaeda replies, realising he’s not as invisible as he first thought. He decides that there is no way he can ignore it. “Are you alright?” 

“Oh, what? Yeah, I’m fine.” Hinata sighs, attempting to get up from the studio floor. Komaeda offers a hand, which he surprisingly takes. “It’s an old injury, I just keep managing to fuck it up again and again.” Komaeda is taken aback by his sudden language. His classes were always clean and polite. 

“Oh, right.” Komaeda comments. The eye contact between them is brief, but the pale boy can feel the tension rising in his chest. There was something he wanted to ask, wasn’t there? 

“Uh, Hinata-san?” Komaeda begins, his words only catching the air in front of him as Hinata walks away. 

Hinata turns back, casually pulling one earphone out. “Uh… yeah?”

“D-don’t worry. I’ll run it by you another time.”


	2. Walking slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Komaeda catches Hinata alone on a dry wintery morning.

The lights in the auditorium were blinding. The room seemed as though it, too, was wilting in the heat. Komaeda sweeps through the aisles at the back, trying not to focus on the scene unfolding in front of him. It was nerve wracking. A panel of judges, some of which he had seen before, line the second row of seats. They seemed to be a theatre group of some kind, all wearing the same maroon uniforms. This must be another external company, searching for the stars of their newly written production. 

“Now, singing auditions… Ibuki Mioda.” One of the faceless judges yell. 

Ibuki quickly walks onto the stage, her hair bouncing with each stride. When instructed, she begins to sing. Her silky voice floods the empty space, causing the room to swell with sound. 

She sounds confident and assured. Tuneful... most of the time. Komaeda knows the stakes are high. His heart seems to beat for her, as if he knows anything about the musical in the first place. Her voice is soft and emotional, unlike her usual assertive nature. In the same way that Hinata seemed to talk with his movements, Ibuki seemed to communicate through song. 

As her performance concludes, the judges give her a polite round of applause. Ibuki instantly crouches and performs a little excited jump. “Ibuki says thank you~!” she coos, waving all around and blowing kisses, as if the space is packed with an attentive audience. She bows and exits the stage, her feet trotting quickly along the polished wooden floor. The space drowns in silence once again. The row of adults flick through their notes, scribbling. 

From the back wall, Komaeda can just about hear the new conversation in the hallway behind him. Various cheers and compliments are given to Ibuki. She claps for herself and cheers loudly- perhaps too loud. She is softly reminded to be quieter by a voice that can only belong to Hinata. 

She replies in a sarcastic whisper. “Ibuki only takes performance advice from other _singers,_ dancer boy!” She continues, clearly listening to Hinata, but undermining him anyway. She earns quiet laughter from the rest of her peers. Komaeda can almost feel Hinata’s eye roll through the walls.

The white-haired boy tries not to make it too obvious that he intends to eavesdrop on the judges. The room feels tense, but he cannot help himself. If there’s anything he can discover, he would simply love to know it. Perhaps there is information that can be of use to the group, something that will make him a valuable asset. 

Not that he much cares to please them, but it would still make things _interesting. _

He begins to sweep closer to the front, slowly at first, but skipping a few rows in a way that would be easy to notice if anyone were watching. His invisibility has quickly become useful. He slides himself into the aisle behind the panel, only causing one head to turn towards him. He gives the judge an awkward smile that does not serve to erode her hardened expression.

_“Well, we knew he was going to get the main dance part, anyway,”_ Komaeda hears. 

This is referring to Hinata, surely. A simple fact of life. His success is completely inevitable. 

_“So take her out of this pair…”_ the voices continue, _“and what, put them together?” _

What is being said doesn’t really help him very much. It could still be of use to someone, he thinks, but he can’t just stand there forever. Sweeping a row only takes so long, and he won’t remember much conversation anyway. More importantly, he needs to get on with his work, or he won’t be home in time to be let in. He should have remembered his keys, but they at least act as an incentive for Komaeda to stop worrying about things beyond his control. 

The auditions don’t even _matter._ Those who got lucky will be pleased, and those who are unlucky will try harder next time, he thought. In the grand scheme of things, that's what is best for everyone. 

With this, his spy work concludes. 

\--

The next morning, Komaeda awakens with a start. Late again, he realises. The walk to work is stressful, his ankles becoming more painful with each forced step forward, trying to walk fast and play it “cool” as opposed to run.

He can’t be late cleaning Hinata’s studio today if he still manages to get there before the academy even opens. As a bonus, he won’t have to see any of the dancers at all. It may be the more difficult way around the issue, but it means he can go home earlier. He spares little thought about the cowardly principle of making an effort to avoid people his age. 

Following Hinata’s studio, the main group hall will need to be cleaned. If he can get that done straight after Hinata’s studio, he can avoid the group class all together. If he then goes to the auditorium, he can ensure he misses the singing classes. After that, Komaeda can scurry off home, and this time, not spill mop water directly into his shoes. 

Hope’s Peak was almost eerie when empty, without the music, the dancing or the people. In comparison to yesterday, when the building was bursting with life, it could now only be described as… dead. Komaeda’s footsteps echo their way down the hall, as if that of a ghost. He takes the keys to the private studio out of his pocket. The corridor is long, echoey and cold. It was calming in a weird way, however. When you’ve just woken up, as Komaeda had, sometimes all you want is some quiet to lull you into the idea of being awake. 

As he approaches the studio, he lays a light hand on the door. The metal creeps open. Weird, Komaeda thinks. If he was stupid enough to leave it open last night, he’s royally screwed. He’ll have to wait for the reception staff to come in. That way he can find out whether he’s truly in the shit. 

The door opens with a small squeak. Komaeda can hear soft piano music emanating from the speaker on the other side of the room. The space is illuminated with a moody grey light, dull and dingy. It appears almost clinical, white, freezing and seemingly untouched by Hinata. At the end of the room in the far corner, the brown haired boy begins to stretch. He places one leg on the rail, gazing at himself in the mirror-covered wall. He stretches until his head rests above his raised knee, holding position by intensely concentrating on his own foot. His eyes flicker for a second, following the new path of light now present in the room. The crack in the doorway creates a stark contrast between the calm greys of his side, and the blinding gold flooding in from the hallway. 

“Oh, Komaeda-san.” The voice calls. The hollow echo seems to strike him. He’s in deep, deep trouble. His eyes lock with Hinata’s for a second, before they fly in another direction. 

“Did you leave the door open last night?”

Komaeda takes a second to compose himself, his hands fiddling with the gloves on his trolley. He stares intensely at the pointless task at hand. “I’m not too sure.” 

The two voices seem to fill the hollow space with a semblance of colour. Hinata swiftly answers. “I just wanted to say, uh… don’t worry about it, I have my own keys.” He laughs a little, filling the emptiness. The clear falseness almost makes the studio feel cramped, even for just two people. The music continues to whisper softly around the room. Hinata takes his time before speaking again. 

“...So, yknow, if it’s open, they'll assume it’s me.”

He looks away, placing his previously raised leg onto the ground again. He pauses and takes a breath, closing his eyes. He's fixated on the sound of the piano, swaying back and forth, breathing in slowly. He takes his place in the center of the room. Komaeda begins to feel incredibly see-through once again.

Hinata begins to practice his solo piece. He starts with one hand fluttering in the air, arched over his head. The movements seem almost weightless, yet Komaeda could tell they were incredibly controlled. When Hinata leaps through the air, he is able to feel it in his bones. He lands, light as a feather on the opposite foot, as if he had never left the ground at all. He seemed powerful, yet fragile. 

“I was going to clean in here...” Komaeda’s voice echoes timidly, bouncing around the studio. His eyes follow the movements of the brunette boy, in awe of his gait. His feet feel glued to the floor. “ I just don’t want to get in your way.” He responds, timidly. 

Hinata falls to the floor as the music becomes more sullen, as he has practised previously. “Get in my way?” Hinata answers quietly, clearly trying to assert his harmlessness with questionable results. His kneeling position is maintained as his arms rise in front of him, his eyes now attempting to lock with Komaeda’s own. Realising that this notion isn’t reciprocated, he looks away, rising from the ground. 

The pale boy smiles a little, choosing to watch Hinata’s feet in the mirror. 

“It’s okay, Komaeda.” Hinata bends downward, his vision gracing the floor, before he rises again. His arm returns to the air. “I know that the boss will want it done, so if you want to do it now...” 

Hinata pauses, realising his foot is out of position completely. He makes a slightly pained noise, irritated, correcting it in the reflective glass. 

“...I don’t mind it.”

Komaeda steps into the room, and begins cleaning the full-length mirror. It covered an entire wall of the studio. It must have seen so many wonderful things, he thought. A few mistakes too, no doubt. From here, he was able to watch Hinata practice the rest of his solo, reflected back at him. The room felt tense, and he wanted to kill the awkwardness immediately. 

From his crouched position, Komaeda could see that Hinata’s legs were toned, yet smooth. This only seemed to compliment his grace. His arms were strong, yet seemed to flutter, light as a feather as he raised them, almost appearing to float. Hinata began to practice his pirouettes, watching his own eyes in the mirror with each turn. He was thankfully too busy to see the other boy clearly fixated on him. He was an amazing dancer. Komaeda was struck by his discipline, his shoes barely shuffling, as if he were a figurine in a wind-up jewellery box.

Komaeda had never really paid attention to Hinata up close. He felt like it was a privilege that he shouldn’t be indulging in. Given how many people scramble for lessons, watching Hinata practice almost seemed to be infringing on those that pay for his time. The problem was that Hinata was a professional, whose dances were constructed so beautifully that anyone would struggle to look away. Komaeda’s summer job had swiftly become something that others would pay for, not be paid to do. 

Hinata seemed to dress in a way that was rather understated, given his numerous titles. In stark contrast to other dancers he had seen in movies and TV shows, Hinata wore all black; a causal pair of sports leggings, some shorts over the top, and a long sleeved shirt. His sleeves only served to accentuate Hinata’s dainty wrists, helping his hands to float as he holds the position. The studio seemed to only deepen the black that Hinata was adorned with, swallowing him whole in the moodiness of the room. 

Komaeda quickly averts his gaze, now facing the back wall. _Yeah, uh, to clean the floor, he needs to be able to see it first,_ he thinks. The muddy wash of grey that seemed to be common in the early morning did not help him whatsoever. He opens the long, dusty curtains at the back of the studio, allowing more glorious light to flood in. It pooled at the skirting boards, engulfing Hinata’s feet. The room, now dressed in the golden sunshine, immediately seems warmer. The piano music seems to lull Komaeda out of the idea he needs to say anything to him. He begins to sweep. 

Hinata’s skin almost appeared to glow in the newfound light, turning his smiles into beaming grins as he danced. The image almost seemed to contradict itself. Hajime Hinata dances with the grace of a dove, in a studio that served as his cage. 

Komaeda reaches the rail, where Hinata’s arm is now resting. He seems to be in a trance of his own creation, his feet pointing with their best effort. His entire figure is bathed in gold. “Sorry, can I just-” Komaeda says softly.

“-Yeah, course, hold on.” Hinata quietly replies, delicately lifting his arm from the rail and gently lowering his foot to the ground, so softly, as if his limbs might break. He slowly walks to the stereo, each step barely making a sound, and lowers the volume of his music. “Long day ahead…” Hinata sighs, his back falling against the rail on the other side of the wall. “I’m starting to think Hope’s Peak make me guide the group class because they don’t want to.”

Hinata soon realises the pale, almost pallid boy is only half-listening, fixated on the task at hand beyond any means necessary. 

“It’s a bit _loud…_” Komaeda begins, his dust cloth now seeing to the handrail. “It’s a lot of people in one room, and someone always leaves something behind.” 

Hinata watches Komaeda’s hand glide over the rail. He crosses his arms in front of him instinctively. “Well, I guess it’s natural that we’d worry about different things.” Hinata replies. 

This causes Komaeda to automatically roll his eyes a little, luckily turned away from him. 

“On my end, it’s a problem with the dancers.” 

Hinata taps his foot on the floor, thinking of what to say next. He allows one arm to be let go, now relaxed by his side. The huffing only continues. He can’t be tired, Komaeda thinks. He’s just annoyed, it seems. “There’s so many of them now...” His eyes gaze around the room, as if counting the number of students that can fit. “It’s hard to spot bad technique when there’s 15 people in one place.” His eyes now flicker to the floor. “I’m not ready for the new intake auditions. I haven’t even thought of a song for them yet.”

Komaeda tries his best to ignore the hand at Hinata’s side, now visibly shaking. The golden rays cast a shadow in such a way that Komaeda can see the way his hand timidly moves. This patch of floor gives more away about Hinata than he will ever know. If he was looking at him, Komaeda thinks, he would have hidden that tell immediately. Komaeda is no good at Psychology, but is aware that Hinata’s entire being seems to be a performance of some kind. 

“Auditions?” He asks plainly, attempting to make menial conversation. He applies pressure to an especially stubborn scuff Hinata’s trainers have left at some point. 

“Yeah...” Hinata sighs. “New bunch of auditions for Hope’s Peak coming in.” He raises his arms, as if to insinuate excitement, but his head hangs in despair. “Talk of the town, surprised you haven’t heard about it yet.” He huffed, his arms dramatically falling, hitting his thighs with a thwack. Hinata seems disappointed, almost bored at the idea of his own fame.

“Oh no, I’ve heard,” Komaeda chirps quickly, “I just never knew the procedure for them.” He cannot take his eyes off of the shadow of Hinata’s shaking hand. “I wasn’t aware there was a particular song they have to dance to...” Komaeda replies, lying. 

Of course he knows there is a song selected each year for the intake auditions. His mother tells him enough. His friends tell him enough. The posters on his walk home also tell him enough. Komaeda would never go for it, no matter how much his mum badgers him each year. She plays the selected song in the house every day because it’s “nice”, and not so he is forced to learn it off by heart by the end of the intake season. 

Hinata is unphased, and continues in a nonchalant manner. “Yeah, and I have to pick it.” He sighs loudly, examining his fingernails. It seems that his own insecurities have caught up with him, the hand now vanishing from Komaeda’s vision. “Hopefully someone else will take the new class. They like me guiding the new ones, but I’m hoping they’ll let me crack on with the group I already have.”

Komaeda pushes the trolley away from Hinata, signalling that he has finished. He has no answer worth giving. He knows very little about what it’s like to teach a class, and says the first thing that comes to his mind that isn’t strictly audition related. He’d had enough practice of this kind of deflection at home. “Yeah, well, when I clean the group studio, I’ll have to start picking a time before both groups come in.”

“Yeah.” Hinata mutters. 

All that needed to be said had been said. Komaeda turns to leave, feeling as though the air has become harder to swallow down.


	3. Lighter feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stress of the auditions finally takes ahold. Komaeda is privy to more drama than he ever should be. Komaeda and Hinata meet outside and share a moment in the rain.

Komaeda’s thoughts were unable to rest that night. The intake auditions were already playing on his mind. It seems almost ridiculous, he thought to himself, to be so worked up over something that was never going to happen. The idea is unthinkable- Komaeda’s two left feet fumbling about, somehow amusing the headmaster and Hinata enough to warrant a spot in the new class. Komaeda would fall at Hinata’s feet, barely disturbing him as he scrambled out every version of “sorry” he could think of. The thoughts just weren’t worth pursuing any further.

He didn’t want to ruin the stepping stones that were seemingly in place to start an awkward, one-sided friendship. By auditioning, he would ensure that Hinata would view him as nothing else but an incompetent auditionee. Each time they had spoken, Komaeda could feel a type of nervous energy that he had never felt before. It was a cold chill that spread from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. A freezing sensation, that seemed to climax as an icy-hot heat, burning away to embers in Hinata’s presence. 

He set every nerve in Komaeda’s body alight. 

When they talked, it wasn’t like anything Komaeda had thought would happen. He seemed so welcoming, which wasn’t what he had expected, given his commanding presence in the group practice room. When he caught him alone, he had talked to him like they had been friends for ages. His posture appeared to lean into every word the pale boy had said, while Komaeda had shielded against it, not even allowing their eyes to meet. Komaeda had deflected any essence of feeling. In contrast, Hinata had danced in a way that felt so open, as if he could reach into him and pull his very heart out. 

Komaeda had learned that he says very little with his mouth. Hinata, unsurprisingly, says it all with his body. He holds his friends as if scared to hurt them, and caresses his dance partners as if terrified to lose them. He uses his touch to convey every thought, in a way so complex that no words needed to be exchanged. Komaeda had seen it for himself in the group practice room. His eye contact alone seemed to calm Sonia. Even his soft grip on her hips seemed to say, “You don’t have to be scared of me.” 

Hinata handled everyone’s presence with a patience and a dignity that, when extended to Komaeda, made him feel queasy. Unable to avoid his own emotional exhaustion, the pale boy rolls over to sleep, hoping that this summer goes as quickly as possible.

\--

The walk to work is dreary as always. The hill is slippery to walk down, requiring all of his concentration to get right. He doesn’t want to slip onto his ass and have to trudge home for a new pair of jeans, which has happened once before, already. These are his nice pair, too. He takes extra care not to ruin them. 

Hope’s Peak is bustling with people when he arrives. The evening shifts are often the worst. The building was just as unpleasant, whether full or empty. He scuffs his feet, dragging himself up the steps into the building. The echoes of Sonia’s voice can be heard as he approaches the door. 

“You’re being so impolite!” Sonia yells, her strained fists holding her shoelaces tight as she stands in front of Gundam. She seems unphased by his towering height, tiptoeing barefoot on the cold, unclean floor. Komaeda is unable to catch Gundam’s mumbled reply. 

He figures he should leave it alone, and leave it alone he would have, if not for Sonia clearly spotting him standing in the doorway. She cries the minute she sees his shadow at her feet, stretched in a horrific manner along the hall. Komaeda can do nothing but stand there, stunned, in silence. 

“We tried, okay? They saw what they liked. I’m sorry, okay, I am-” she sniffs, hiding her face in her hands. Her stress shows as her parted fingers rise and make a home in her hair, now sweaty and messy. “But this was over a week ago now, Gundam. You can at least try to act happy for me.”

“What do you want me to do? Act like this isn’t getting to me at all?” Gundam removes his scarf and throws it onto the bench next to him. Even from here, Komaeda can see his neck is visibly scarred. He, too, talks with his hands. 

Sonia turns away from him, angrily snatching her kit bag from the doorway to the auditorium. Gundam continues to squawk at her. “I get it, he’s the best, he’s magical, whatever.” He is clearly mocking Sonia now, his pitch raised, arms making grandiose gestures as if she isn’t completely ignoring him. 

Sonia storms past Komaeda, tears streaming down her face as she bumps into his shoulder yet again, almost knocking him over. Gundam huffs and falls onto the bench, facing the door in front of him. The light in the sky fades, the corridor instantly becoming darker. The hall now feels like it will choke Komaeda to death. 

“What are you looking at, huh?” 

Gundam turns his head to face Komaeda, his hands defeated, hanging in his lap between his legs. His scarf is gently held in his palms, weaving between his fingers. “Must have a pretty dark sense of humour to stand there gawking.” 

Komaeda turns away, unable to think of any words of reassurance. He feels a sickening feeling in his stomach as he looks down at his watch. Half an hour wasted already, unable to do much of anything. He’ll definitely be late home for dinner. 

He scans the room, hoping to find the closest door out of the building. He himself needs to breathe. His eyes lock with that of... Akane...? 

“IS-HE-OK,”she mouths. 

“NO,” Komaeda mouths back.

“CAN-HE-SEE-ME”, Akane returns. 

Komaeda rolls his eyes. He quietly ambles towards her, one eye on Gundam as he lightly shuffles his feet. He can’t bear the thought of how absurd this looks; staring at the pair while they fight, then scurrying off afterward, as if saving the thought for later. Despite doing nothing wrong, Komaeda felt gross. 

“THIS-IS-STUPID,” he mouths in reply. 

“A BIT,” Akane comments loudly, shocking him. 

“H-hey- oh my god, he’s just round the corner.” He splutters. 

Akane looks a little put-out. She adjusts her hair, pulling the tie out from the bun sitting atop her head. Her hair comes spilling out like the mane of a lion, a waterfall of colour all over her face. She continues at a more acceptable volume. “He’s just... a little crushed. I can’t blame him.” 

Komaeda hears a sound that very much seems like a locker being kicked. Akane cowers in response, pulling a pained expression. The silence that follows is awkward and tense, as the pair both instinctively follow the direction of the noise with their heads. Akane’s fluffy hair gently thwaps Komaeda in the face.

“He wanted that part so much. I don’t think he even knew that Hinata was auditioning.” 

“-Hinata has to audition?” Komaeda comments quickly, instantly regretting it. _ Of course he does,_ He thinks to himself. _He isn’t God._

“Yeah, uh, he has to audition, just like everyone else, for _independent_ productions. They cast him for _internal_ stuff here, but he has to audition for outside stuff. He’s just really good at getting it.”

Akane’s face sours. “The auditions were for duos, but Hinata didn’t have a partner of course, cuz… he’s been guiding the class in pairs, ya dig? So they paired him up with Sonia-” she continues, 

“-And he and Sonia got the part together.” Komaeda finishes off, his hands now held together. He knows that must have gutted Gundam like a frozen fish. The pair stand there, silently having a competition of who can pull the most awkward pained expression. 

Akane’s phone beeps loudly, echoing throughout the academy. “Oh- that’s my aunt.” She smiles, swiping up to read the message. “I was meant to be home by now. I’ll see if I can catch Gundam up, yeah?”

It’s as if Akane is asking for permission from the cleaner. 

“Yeah.” Komaeda comments. 

\--

This summer could not go slower than it is already. Komaeda’s feet drag across the ground. He pushes the glass door away from him, releasing himself from the prison of Hope’s Peak. His walk home begins as it always does, the brassy whispers of an acoustic guitar filling his ears. His phone was always carelessly set to shuffle his playlists. Luck had decided that today was the day for soft and calming music, the type that almost feels like a melodic embrace. 

It was a little darker than usual today. The murky greys made the clouds seem heavy, almost swelling, taking over the sky above. A pinprick of rain falls onto Komaeda’s hand, and he lifts his arm to inspect it. Of course this would be the day he forgets his jacket. The good music is unable to cancel out the bad weather, now seeming to mock him as he continues to walk.

His music is cut apart by a familiar voice. 

_“You walk this way, too? I’ve never seen you take this route before.” _

His smile is almost poisonous to Komaeda, seeming to pierce right through him once again. As the brunette haired boy runs a little to catch up with him, his rough hands brush against Komaeda’s own. They take a few steps together, unable to lose the contact between the back of their palms. 

Hinata lets this touch linger for longer than any normal person would. He is over familiar as well as overconfident, Komaeda observes. 

He soon reflexively moves his hand away from Hinata, who flashes his eyes downward to follow the motion. The walk continues in near silence for a few seconds. Komaeda can almost hear Hinata’s brain trying to find something to say. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, do you always walk this way?" He begins. "I feel like I would have seen you at least once.” He seems to soften, laughing to himself, and Komaeda’s eyes bravely travel to meet his. The glance is short, yet seems to convey a friendly feeling between the two. 

“Sometimes, not always. I normally walk this way when I listen to my music.”

“-Oh! Don’t let me stop you.” Hinata reassures, waving his hands in front of him to indicate a breathable amount of personal space. His honest mannerisms are in complete contrast to his usual sarcastic quips. 

“Don’t worry! I-It’s alright.” Komaeda swats away his earphones from either ear with shaky hands. Another drop of rain lands on his shoulder. “It’s all the same anyway, I’ve heard this music time and time again before.”

“Tell me about it.” 

Hinata dramatically sighs, his eyes able to meet Komaeda’s again with a weak smile. They both exchange a laugh, and Komaeda considers how often Hinata has to hear the same piece of music every single day. This has probably only worsened with the intake auditions approaching. Hinata makes a confused expression, glancing at his shoulder where a raindrop has kissed him.

“I think it’s going to rain.” He quietly comments. 

Komaeda lifts his arm again, inspecting the dark specs on his grey jumper. “It’s rain-_ing,_ I think. I already feel cold.” 

He tries to smile warmly at Hinata, who does not meet his gaze. He seems to be looking at Komaeda’s rucksack worriedly. Komaeda attempts to interject, not wanting Hinata to ever worry about someone like him. 

“I heard you and Sonia got the part.” Komaeda says cheerfully. Hinata remains quiet. He looks down at his feet, as if his shoes have just become incredibly interesting. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t a hard routine to learn. Took three sessions to teach it to her.” He mumbles.

His speech seems almost mechanical. This is in stark contrast to his movements alongside Sonia, Komaeda thinks. He suddenly struggles to imagine any kind of amicability between them at all. “Chemistry is what they were after, and Sonia gave it to them, it seems.” He continues quietly, inspecting his fingers. “You can manufacture chemistry, but it takes a good routine.” 

Komaeda tries his best to be reassuring, unsure of what Hinata is worrying about. He knows this conversation has already turned sour, and he is no good at saving ships that are already sinking. 

“I don’t think it’s possible to do that, really. You and Sonia seem to really get on, and I think they must have seen that-” 

Hinata interjects sharply. “-I guess so. But we have nothing special.” 

The rain begins to worsen as the pair walk in silence. The sky has become darker, and the raindrops begin to assault Komaeda’s hair, becoming even more wiry and curly. It seems that today isn’t a lucky day at all. He feels like he has _offended_ the brunette. Maybe Hinata is just one of those people who want to be seen for things beyond their work. Maybe he is tired of dance, and Komaeda doesn’t know that yet. Maybe he is sick of just being seen for his performances, and he has royally fucked up. His thoughts are then cut short. 

“No coat?” Hinata interjects, his head falling to one side. His concentration on Komaeda’s bag now makes much more sense. 

“I know," Komaeda sighs. "The one day I forget it, and-” 

As Komaeda makes an exasperated gesture, Hinata catches his hand in the air. They stop in the middle of the pavement. Hinata opens out the pallid boy’s frozen palms, using his thumb to feel the tips of his fingers. 

He seems worried. 

He looks down, inspecting Komaeda’s wrists, concentrated on finding something in particular, it seems. Komaeda cannot believe this is happening, nor that he is allowing it to happen without jerking his hand away. Hinata's actions are speaking this time, but Komaeda isn’t well versed enough to translate. 

“Komaeda-san, you’re freezing.” Hinata replies softly. He instinctively begins taking off his Hope’s Peak jacket.

“Hey, no no-” Komaeda splutters, his hands thrown up in front of him. Hinata uses these movements against him, his raised shoulders now perfect to hang his jacket over. The exchange almost feels like a choreographed piece, Hinata twisting and guiding his jacket over the flustered boy’s back. Komaeda goes completely red. His breathing hitches at the back of his throat, Hinata’s oversized hoodie now blanketing him in warmth. 

“It’s alright, I hardly get cold.” He giggles. Hinata seems bright and sunny all of a sudden, watching Komaeda be swamped in his huge Hope’s Peak Company coat. “You need to put your arms in, though. They say that warming your wrists helps to warm your hands through, don’t they?”

Komaeda does as he is told. The Hope’s Peak insignia now rests on his chest. He has seen Hinata wear this hoodie before, and knows that his name is printed on the back in large letters. This will definitely take some explaining if anyone sees it. 

He’s accepted awards in this. He’s practiced in this, danced for medals in this, and now Komaeda is wearing it. If he arrives at the cottage like this, he can only pray that his mother isn’t home when he gets in. 

Hinata’s hands fall in front of him. They almost link with Komaeda’s. He looks down to inspect them once again. “Are they always this cold? You might have a circulation... _thing..?_” Hinata is stuttering now, but his contact with Komaeda persists. “I-I know a few dancers with ice cold feet.” He talks quickly, raising his voice to be heard over the percussion of the rain. It's hammering down now, Hinata’s black undershirt almost soaked through. Komaeda can’t look anywhere else but at Hinata’s eyes. 

He responds to this contact by running a reassuring thumb over Komaeda’s hand. Komaeda will have to agonisingly translate this later. 

“I’ve never thought about it-”

“-Wait.” Hinata lifts the hood of his jacket over Komaeda’s head, brushing his wet hand against his soggy mop of hair. 

“Your lips are blue.” 

His fingers trace down to Komaeda’s cheek, wiping away a raindrop from under his eyes. Hinata is intensely concentrated on Komaeda’s mouth. The rain has begun to assault the drainage covers, their metallic twangs greeting the scene. The smell of dew and concrete mix in the cold air. Komaeda’s hands are shaking, his heart thumping in his chest wildly.

“Well there’s nothing I c-can do about that-” Komaeda says, breathy and flustered. The warmth of Hinata’s hand on his face is welcomed, but his hands are rough and overworked, like sandpaper. Time seems to stand still. Komaeda nervously eyes the floor, but manages to return to his gaze as the brunette boy begins to talk.

Hinata is still absentmindedly tracing the outside of his lips as he continues. “I should, uh, we should be getting home. The next road is where we break off, I think.” 

Hinata looks away for a second, gathering himself, and reflexively removes his hand. 

The next few steps feel like an eternity. The boys discard each other. Komaeda is now flooded, drowing in Hinata’s language that he cannot understand.


	4. Plie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Komaeda confronts his feelings, and learns a lot about Gundam Tanaka. 
> 
> TW for character death, descriptions of death, descriptions of car accidents and drunk driving. Very minor self harm mention.

Hinata’s jacket lays discarded on Komaeda’s bed for days. Every morning, he hopes he will remember to take it in, forgets, and curses himself on the doorstep of Hope’s Peak. He hasn’t seen Hinata for a while, which is a good thing, because he might infer that Komaeda is keeping his coat on purpose. 

Which Komaeda definitely isn’t. 

...It smells like sandalwood and hairspray, most likely caked on from show after show. Another scent lingers around the cuffs, almost wine-like, with a hint of tobacco. He imagines this must be how Hinata’s home smells. He can almost imagine it, the deep and ever-growing wine cellar reopened each time Hinata won a medal, earned a qualification, or performed a new part. 

This made Komaeda feel giddy with emotion, yet uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t ignore. It forced him to confront the fact that Hinata was a human. Each smell reminded him of that. 

Hinata wasn’t a mechanical model of pristine porcelain. A real, living, breathing human was capable of dancing so beautifully, crafting each movement with such an obsessive level of care. He had an unfathomable talent for creating feelings so rich that audiences cry upon seeing them. When he danced, Komaeda felt like he had known him forever, as though he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

However, Komaeda had learned that Hinata’s heart was still very much inside him, almost swallowed down at the back of his throat. He seemed to be hurting badly. The way he had responded when Sonia’s name was mentioned played on him. It seemed to have completely eaten him up inside, causing his confidence to immediately dissipate into the atmosphere, as if he didn’t have any feelings towards her at all. He had managed to craft this affection so masterfully in front of the class. It didn’t make sense. 

They were friends. There was no reason for Hinata to act so viscerally. 

Komaeda was able to spare a thought for Gundham, who clearly seemed hurt by Sonia being given the part without him. It must sting, he thought, to put your whole self out onto the stage, and be ripped to shreds in an instant. Hinata may very well be beating himself up about winning the spot, but even the idea sounded stupid to Komaeda. Hinata hates that he succeeded? Isn’t that what Hinata is all about?

Sure, his brain answers, but Hinata loves his class. He wants them all to do well. There’s no way that he would want to take any opportunities away from those that he loves. 

_Then why did he audition?_

Every time Komaeda attempted to decode their walk home, his mind wanted to scurry away immediately. He hadn’t even begin to decode the way that Hinata had behaved towards him. 

Acting that over-familiar had to be a by-product of his profession, simply the way Hinata was built. His eyes asked Komaeda whether it was okay before every touch, and Komaeda had said yes, over and over. The problem was that although Hinata seemed to be sincere, he could never be sure. Each day for Hinata was a performance. He could have simply been performing as a worried friend that day.

He didn’t pretend to understand the eye contact, or the brushing of their hands, or the smile that seemed to greet his face on their walk home. He could barely understand how he felt in those first few moments. Hinata was a mystery. 

So, his hoodie remained with Komaeda.

And Komaeda’s heart remained with him.

\--

The next day feels more tense than usual. Komaeda’s regular cleaning duties pass quickly. He tries to avoid Hinata in any way possible. 

They had exchanged a glance in the hallway. It seemed to convey a sense of vacant space between them, awkward and empty; as if needing to be filled with words, an excuse, or some form of interaction. All Komaeda could hear from the practice rooms was Hinata’s voice, the halls practically vibrating with his silky tone. 

Being forced to hear Hinata each day was a new kind of torture. It made him want to rip himself apart, just to be able to feel something, _anything._ He could never act on his desire to talk to him, to see him, or to even meet his eyes in the hallway. The previous interaction had been too awkward. The idea itself made him feel nervous and sick. 

Every shift, he would ignore Hinata as best he could, and then go home to his bedroom. Here, he could smell faint hints of the brunette boy, scattered around his space. It filled him with the intimacy he craved, just for a second. He would feel giddy with excitement, just for a short moment, upon opening the door each evening. The pleasure of the sensation would swallow Komaeda whole,_ burning,_ and then dissipate like nothing. He would then have to deal with the inevitable guilt that followed. Sometimes, he would sit there for hours, just thinking through that day, holding his jacket like a lovesick-

-Even thinking about it was too much.

Just the thought made the icy heat rise up into his throat again. Over time, he had found a strange enjoyment in the sensation, a type of sadism you could only experience when what you want is just out of reach. Each step towards the door of Hope’s Peak is painful, Hinata’s footsteps taunting him at the other end of the hall as he leaves through the fire door. 

Komaeda had taken the long way round on purpose, specifically to avoid company. His bad luck once again makes itself achingly apparent. Before long, he finds himself outside on the steps, next to a sullen and irritated Gundam. 

The conversation that follows is hit back and forth, like an unenthusiastic game of ping pong. The words that hang in the air mean close to nothing. Komaeda wants to tell Gundam that he is there for him, that he doesn’t judge him for his reaction that day, that Hinata didn’t mean it, that Sonia was just frustrated, that- 

But as always, Komaeda is drawn to the easiest option. A horrid and unwelcome silence. 

The wind is icy, whispering down his spine. Darkness has already begun to envelop the sky; a soft blanket of comfort to contain the oncoming chilling conversation. The steps are freezing beneath Komaeda, and his thin jacket is only able to do so much. His fingertips are frozen, an unsettling shade of white. He holds them in the opposite palm worriedly. 

For a second, his heart flutters at the thought of Hinata’s hands over his own… his concerned face, his thumb dancing over his cheek. 

He kills the thought off as soon as possible. 

Gundam fiddles with the tassels of his scarf between his fingers. His face is pallid. His hard work in Hinata’s class is apparent, his eyeliner smudged messily over his cheeks and near his eyebrows. His expression is hardened, his posture closed and reserved. In contrast, he grumbles something that is remarkably open. 

“I just…” he begins quietly. “I wanted that part so much.” 

He clenches his hand shut. Komaeda imagines his heart being crushed between his squishy palms, in a rather gory manner. He has no idea what to say. This whole time, he has just tried to be polite and inoffensive, as any peer would do. 

The sky is bright and alive with stars, which Komaeda has naturally been staring at for the majority of the conversation. “I know...” he begins. The wind starts to die down. This leaves only the faint sound of cars on far-away roads; a familiar hum of life elsewhere. Gundam looks up at him, almost shocked that he would reply at all.

Komaeda continues softly. “...I could see that you were.” 

He soon decides that this may come off as sarcastic, pedantic even. He wants to eat the words immediately, following it with the first sentence he could string together. The gentle hum of life from afar only clouds his thoughts as he scrambles for words. 

“I don’t think it was personal.”

The lungs of mother nature breathe calmly. Darkened trees dance in the distance. The keys in Komaeda’s pocket rustle as he adjusts, a rancorous chime of chaos immediately puncturing the atmosphere. There is a distinct pause as the earth settles, accommodating the conversation once again. 

“I think it was.” 

The breeze seems to shudder, as if shocked by the words that spill out of Gundam’s mouth. Despite the heavy conversation, Komaeda finds it easier to look at him as he speaks. He hardly searches for eye contact at all, his vision seemingly vacant, focussed on nothing in particular. 

Komaeda begins to fall over his words, unable to think of how to plaster over the previous retort. He knew how to clean, but he _didn’t_ know how to clear up a derailing conversation. 

“Hinata is….” He begins.

He knows that whatever he says next will be overbearing and stupid. His voice hangs in the atmosphere for a while, unable to form the rest of his sentence. Gundam sighs, his breath joining the symphony of the wind around them. It seems to further the chill down Komaeda’s back.

“He’s... _perfect?_ Is that it? He’s _pretty_ and _elegant_ and not-” 

Komaeda looks at Gundam with concern. A single tear rolls down Gundam’s cheek.

“-Not, fucking, _different._”

The tense feeling is palatable. A ringing begins in Komaeda’s ears, as if a warning sign to back off, while it is still possible. This only makes the silence that follows more heavy. 

They both know of the scar that is underneath Gundam’s ever-present scarf. Komaeda doesn’t see him any differently since seeing it, but he doesn’t quite know how to convey that in a way that doesn’t come across as impolite or unwarranted. The silence doesn’t last long. Gundam seems to be speaking out into the universe, now. Komaeda is a mere spectator.

“You must have heard about the crash. Everyone in this town knows about it. Leon was, h-he was-” 

Gundam begins to cry harder, wiping away the tears angrily with little regard for his skin. His hands land with a _slap_ in his lap, defeated.

“-a f-fucking _idiot…”_ he continues. He begins to visibly shake, his hands clasping as if claws. He begins to rake away at his knees. The sound of the fabric is grating to Komaeda. He continues in anguish, through gritted teeth. Messy tears spill onto his arms. 

“They were going to be married in S-September.” Gundam looks at the ground in despair. He defensively folds his arms in front of him, busying himself. He is trying desperately to not buckle into his body. His pain is indisputable. 

“I visit their graves sometimes, a-and I feel nothing but love for Souda. No-othing but g-gratitude.” His expression softens. His heavy hands clumsily fall in front of him. Komaeda turns away, feeling the same sickness he had felt before. He hates watching pain, being unable to act, almost frozen. He watches Gundam’s shadow, perfectly pictured within the ray of the streetlamps. He can see his head sink into his hands, his scarf floating in the wind, as if a symbol of hope among a sea of ill fortune. 

“I remember all the good times we had, all the memories of our duo dances together, competitions, concerts-” he continues, his breath painfully hitching at the back of his throat. “....sleeping on his couch. Completely irrelevant things like that. But my mind, it doesn’t stop there, oh no.” He takes a shaky breath. He begins to laugh painfully. It clearly harbours an unfathomable amount of hatred. 

He gasps and lets out a fragmented whimper, sobbing. The painful whine shatters Komaeda’s ears. He heaves, trying to desperately acquire more air in order to continue. “It killed them both, instantly.”

Komaeda’s eyes widen. His throat swells with sympathy. He remembers his mother telling him, after reading the local paper. How one drunk student killed himself, his lover, and almost, his best friend. 

To hear it in person, however, was harrowing. Gundam sniffs, loudly, his sobbing now completely visceral, each breath becoming a hardened wheeze. He clutches himself around his waist, his face pale, his eyes wide. 

His shaky hands now reside in his hair, his panicked state overcoming any fickle want to keep it tidy. “I yelled myself dry, I yelled for him, for them-” he continues, each word shakier than the last. He finally folds into himself, his head collapsing between his legs, rocking back and forth violently. His boots thud repetitively on the pavement below. The heartbeat of the atmosphere quickens. “This scar... is the easier bit.”

His hands rake through his scalp, now scratching himself with a raw and violent _need._ Komaeda instinctively reaches out to stop him. The contact lasts for all of two seconds, before Gundam disgustedly snatches his hand away. He shoots Komaeda a look of warning. 

The rest of the evening is passed with dry remarks of sorry-ness, and emphatic warnings that stem from deep rooted guilt. His conviction is so _strong._ His want, his _need_ to be better is completely unparalleled. He dances for a reason. Every routine, production, and audition. 

He was honouring his best friend with every movement. He didn’t let his scars stop him from pursuing their dream, for both of them. 

It isn’t long before Gundam has dried his tears on his scarf, picked himself up, and sadly begun to phone Sonia. He begs for a lift. He spares no thought for Komaeda, who begins his cold, lonely walk home. 

\--

The next group class feels more tense than usual. Gundam is noticeably absent. _For obvious reasons,_ Komaeda had thought to himself, sweeping the dust on the floor of the group studio into a neat little pile. Sonia has been rather quiet, choosing not to greet Komaeda at the door. Her shoulders seemed tense, almost uncomfortable. Komaeda had noticed. His ability to read someone’s body language had only improved. The longer he knew Hinata, the more important the skill had become. As she stretches, she exchanges whispers with Akane. 

Hinata is late. Ibuki mentions that “this, like, _never happens.”_ The class is full of murmurs, some of concern, some of boredom. Everyone seems to stretch in a different way, which Komaeda found quite interesting. The students were meant to stretch before turning up, but this proved that no one had bothered. 

Komaeda’s schedule hadn’t worked out this time. All of his efforts to avoid this class had gone to waste, and he couldn’t just _leave._ He sighs, opening the curtains along the back wall. 

The light that floods into the room elicits a prominent wince from Kuzuryuu, who looks as though he has rolled straight out of bed and into the studio. 

Pained looks are exchanged as everyone adjusts to the new atmosphere. As the stretching comes to an end, each student looks weary and tired. The mood in the room is salient.

Komaeda tended to whisper light into every room he entered. His ability to dispel the grey, to allow a space to breathe, was about the only satisfying thing about his job here. It was seldom appreciated. 

Hinata bursts into the classroom. 

“Makoto missed the bus-!” Hinata exclaims, exasperated. The door slams shut behind him, as if insulted it was touched in the first place. 

Komaeda notices that he isn’t dressed to dance at all. His hair flutters in his face, each curly end flying sporadically in a new direction. This seemed to get on Hinata’s nerves quickly. He pulls the hair tie off of his wrist with his teeth, as if stripping a chicken bone. He quickly creates the worst, most shoddy ponytail the world has ever seen. 

His figure is slim, yet muscular. This was only accentuated by the navy turtleneck he had thrown on as he left the house. His jeans seemed to frame his rectangular hips, normally left unnoticeable in his shorts. His ankles were dainty, bandaged in beige, held together by kinesthetic tape. It was as if you could tug that tape away, soft as anything, and his entire frame would fall apart. 

He rolls up his long, tight sleeves to reveal an elbow brace on one side. Komaeda could only _imagine_ how it must feel, to perform pronounced moves with an elbow that was bruised like that. 

Hinata seemed to be fragile. 

It was as if Komaeda had seen something he wasn’t meant to see, like being backstage at a magic show. When Hinata performed, it was nothing short of magical. He hid the true mechanisms well, behind black cladding and performative physicality. Inside, it seemed that Hinata was a doll, held together by superglue and the visceral need to perform. 

Komaeda almost thought of Hinata as weak, just for a second for two. This was almost dispelled instantly when Hinata opens his mouth. 

“Let’s get started. Auditions may be over,” he begins, clapping his hands together lightly. “But I want you to _nail_ this technique before we move on.”

His voice is commanding, aware of its own power. Despite his clothes, he seemed to control his physicality as standard, almost demanding respect in his own way. His presence in the room as a figure of admiration is palpable. 

Komaeda swallows down his feelings. The guilt that rose inside him at the mere _thought_ that Hinata was anything other than untouchable is difficult to deal with. 

Sonia looks recognisably upset. Hinata seems to have noticed this, and chooses to stand alongside her. When he speaks, he addresses the mirror, thus addressing the rest of the class. His eyes scanned the room. 

“Today we are going to swap roles.”

_“What?!”_ Kuzuryuu exclaims. “Do I look like a fuckin’ fairy to you?”

Hinata shoots him a disappointed stare. It takes all of 3 seconds for him to back down. Hinata smirks a little, trying to hide it with a palm over his mouth. The angle allows Komaeda to see it perfectly. 

“You may be thinking,” Hinata continues, slowly walking around the room. “My partner is heavier, or taller than me.”

A few nods are seen in reply. 

“But the truth is, if you get the balance right, you can easily dissipate _anyone’s_ weight.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Ibuki stares, wide eyed, at Akane. Akane stares with the same intensity back. Ibuki blinks, and chooses to look away, hoping to not get caught by Hinata. He pretends not to notice. 

Hinata scans the room for an example, unable to see any student taller than him. “I was going to be impressive and try to dip Gundam down here…” Hinata murmurs quietly, his vocal chords only catching every third syllable. “No one else here can prove my point…!” He giggles. The rest of the class erupts in rancorous outrage, at the mere idea that Hajime Hinata is the tallest person after Gundam. It takes a little while for the students to calm down and accept, with great frustration, that Hinata is right. He measures himself up next to Akane, who sighs, when Kuzuryuu sadly reports that they are the same height. As if grasping at straws, Akane’s attention turns to an unlikely suspect. 

“Komaeda’s taller than you!” 

The pale boy is instantly stunned. He clearly hasn’t maintained invisibility as much as he would have hoped. He can’t say for certain whether this is very lucky, or extremely unlucky. 

Hinata smiles warmly, his arms crossed in front of him, as if accepting defeat. 

“Well, perhaps we should ask Komaeda first, whether he’s comfortable being dipped down like that?” 

He chuckles a little, staring at the ground. Komaeda has noticed that Hinata’s face has reddened slightly. His own face grows heated, heart kicking up a fuss as he shakily answers. The icy-hot feeling returns to his chest. 

“I d-don’t think... “ He starts, lightly resting his broom against the wall, “that I’m nearly talented enough for you guys-”

_“Any good at playing dead, Ko?”_ Hinata retorts. Komaeda doesn’t have to look up to acknowledge the smirk that is clearly planted on his cocky face. Sure, being dipped down probably wasn’t that hard, but knowing him, he could probably mess it up somehow. 

The class continues to giggle at Hinata’s remark as the brunette boy holds out his hand. Komaeda, now working completely on autopilot, takes Hinata’s hand into his own. He is led with a soft pulling motion to the front. 

“So,” Hinata continues, as if nothing has changed at all. “Komaeda-san, here, is a couple of inches taller than me.”

_“More than a couple…”_ Sonia replies, earning a snigger from the rest of the class. “W-wait, no, I’m not-!”

Hinata laughs again, unable to contain himself. “How rude, Sonia!” He replies, gasping theatrically, miming as if he is about to faint. “O-okay,” he begins again, with false exasperation. “Alright, Komaeda is quite a bit taller than me.”

“But, with the right positioning…” he continues, turning back to face the class. “I can easily take his weight.” 

Hinata places his hand on Komaeda’s shoulder, turning him away from the class swiftly. He begins to whisper. 

“Listen, okay.” He says, his hand returning to his side. “I’ll only hold you or lift you if you’re completely comfortable.” 

His voice is gentle, yet earnest. He makes a concerted effort to maintain eye contact with the pale boy, intent on reading his face for any sign of discomfort. 

“I’m okay.” Komaeda replies softly, meeting Hinata’s gaze for a fraction of a second before flitting away. 

_“Sure?”_ Hinata confirms, head slightly tilted to one side, like a curious kitten. Despite this strange framing, Komaeda can tell Hinata is serious about checking. 

“Sure.” Komaeda nods, smiling. He turns to face the class once again.

“So, watch.” Hinata announces. His eyes truly map out Komaeda’s height, almost in awe of him. His arm softly greets Komaeda’s hips as he gently twists his body inward. “Relax into me…” Hinata advises, cooing calmly into Komaeda’s ear. The white haired boy becomes very flustered very quickly, but tries desperately to not let it show. 

He falls delicately into Hinata’s arms. Their eye contact lasts for only a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity. Komaeda is no expert in the language Hinata communicates in, but could tell that his eyes were full of nothing but affection. That kind of care, bestowed upon Komaeda, made him feel slightly uncomfortable at first. The feeling doesn’t last too long.

Hinata looks up at the class, smiling, clearly triumphant. “See, I _told_ you!”

The room swells with applause. 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to add here. I pour my heart into this story, and I'm very sorry it's taken this long to update!

**Author's Note:**

> This (and the following two chapters) is my first release of Une Danse Pour Deux! I've been working to release this for a while, but I finally feel like it is time to release this section. I'm going to release periodically, using the hashtag #dancefic on twitter so it is easy to find. Constructive notes welcomed <3 
> 
> I couldn't have written this without the diligent eye of Paddy @PadDoesMeems on twitter who helps me to edit each section, so a very big thank you to him. Additional thanks go to @GameGrlOfficial who listened to me play with this in DMs for ages, @boldirlamati for supporting my need to write it, and to @xelphaar for the title (and fish joke.) <3


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